And yayyy!!! I am at page number 255 of Rana Dasgupta's Tokyo Cancelled. I had picked up this book after a lot of deliberation and with a lot of expectations.
When I read the recap on the back cover, I was curious. Definitely, 13 passengers stranded at an airport, because of a snowstorm and each of them telling a story to while away time should be worth a read!
The reviews from various critics impressed me, even though people were comparing Rana's story-telling to Gabriel Garcia Marquez. And my first GGM read was not impressive either. Maybe it is something to do with people like me, who are more into fast-paced thrillers (the Frederick Forsyth types) or about the timing (the previous month was spent reading the Millenium Trilogy by Steig Larsson non-stop). To cut a long tale short, the beginning was just short of a disappointment. The way Dasgupta's stories oscillate between the real and the surreal, cutting across boundaries of believable and unbelievable, possible and impossible made my interest wane. And I was sure this was going to join the ranks of Fountainhead and Enchantress of Florence that I could never complete the first time round. Or even the likes of Shalimar the Clown and A 100 years of Solitude that I would never complete.
But after nearly a month and a half of half-hearted reading, more for the lack of anything else to read that out of interest, I am warming up to Tokyo Cancelled. And over the last few days, despite my conscious resistance, I seem to be drawn into Dasgupta's web of improbability, of stories where people turn into stone and back, where men fall unbelievably and passionately in love with their own creations and such. Stories with dark or puzzling climaxes, ones that leave a lot to your interpretation.
When I read the recap on the back cover, I was curious. Definitely, 13 passengers stranded at an airport, because of a snowstorm and each of them telling a story to while away time should be worth a read!
The reviews from various critics impressed me, even though people were comparing Rana's story-telling to Gabriel Garcia Marquez. And my first GGM read was not impressive either. Maybe it is something to do with people like me, who are more into fast-paced thrillers (the Frederick Forsyth types) or about the timing (the previous month was spent reading the Millenium Trilogy by Steig Larsson non-stop). To cut a long tale short, the beginning was just short of a disappointment. The way Dasgupta's stories oscillate between the real and the surreal, cutting across boundaries of believable and unbelievable, possible and impossible made my interest wane. And I was sure this was going to join the ranks of Fountainhead and Enchantress of Florence that I could never complete the first time round. Or even the likes of Shalimar the Clown and A 100 years of Solitude that I would never complete.
But after nearly a month and a half of half-hearted reading, more for the lack of anything else to read that out of interest, I am warming up to Tokyo Cancelled. And over the last few days, despite my conscious resistance, I seem to be drawn into Dasgupta's web of improbability, of stories where people turn into stone and back, where men fall unbelievably and passionately in love with their own creations and such. Stories with dark or puzzling climaxes, ones that leave a lot to your interpretation.
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